


Been That, Done There

by ActualHurry



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn With Plot, Pre-Season of Dawn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Shin Malphur wants to peel back the curtain for Drifter. The Sundial is fickle with him. Or: Shin Malphur wants to tell Drifter he's Dredgen Vale, but time travel is hard.(Takes place Pre-Season of Dawn.)
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur, background Osiris/Saint-14
Comments: 10
Kudos: 116





	Been That, Done There

**Author's Note:**

> I’m gonna pretend that Osiris’ boyfriend time machine works like this, and you’re all just going to have to deal with it. This is better than sending Shin through Vex Gates, because of the implication. IT’S ABOUT THE YEARNING, and nobody knows yearning like Osiris. 
> 
> Also, I could write a whole other fic on Drifter's POV through this. I won't, because I don't want to hate myself, but I could.

“Hey. Yeah, I know, haven’t aged a day. Listen, can I call in a favor?” 

… 

“You won’t even notice I’m there.” 

… 

“...Yeah. I’ll clean up my mess.” 

… 

“Thank you, Osiris.” 

Time’s a tricky concept. Shin’s patience runs out the moment he so much as considers letting Osiris lecture him on whether time is a lake or a river or a storm, or none of that at all, and he decides he’ll challenge his own idea of whatever it is. Linear, maybe, with twists and turns – a long branching journey, point a to point b. Or it could be that one spirals into it without control over which consequence catches up to them. 

Guardians, Shin knows, are beyond most things. There are choices. Make the wrong ones, and those choices run out. Make the right ones, and you get rewarded with more. 

That could be it. Time’s just the abundance of choices. You run out of choices and you’re out of time.

Well, Shin is an opportunist. He wants to maximize his options. He wants to find the right choice in a sea of wrong ones. He’s taken chances in the past, but certain things require more finesse, and the things he’s done, the decisions he’s made, means that whatever he does next will decide whether he’s able to press on with it.

It’s not a matter of life or death. It’s low stakes in the scheme of things. That’s likely the only reason Osiris let him play in his backyard. There’s bigger issues for him to worry about than Shin trying to figure out how to be honest with a man constantly in opposition to telling the truth.

“Alright,” Shin mutters, feeling the spark-snap of Vex energy in the air. If he has to fight to make it to the simulation, so be it. “Let’s see how much I can bend time before it breaks.” 

* * *

//1.../

Shin doesn’t know the Infinite Forest like Osiris, and he doesn’t know time like the Vex. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that he ends up too far back the first time he tries to dip his toe into traveling through the past. He knows he’s gone too far like he knows that he can summon his fire in the snap of his fingers; there’s no flashing lights that say he’s taken a jump too large, but he feels it like a static under his skin.

His surroundings are unfamiliar. There’s grass and hills, the fields distant and rolling around him. The horizon’s empty, no ships, no sound. Not even the chirp of a bird, or the rustle of the breeze. It’s nothing as far as the eye can see, and in some nostalgic way, it reminds him of the forgotten place where Palamon once sat. He’s viscerally uncomfortable until he remembers that it’s not his past he’s chasing. Then he relaxes, first his muscles, then his chest.

Fine, so this is a bust. Shin shakes out his cloak, tasting radiolaria in the back of his throat, refusing to wonder why it reminds him of Drifter’s coffee. He’ll have to find his way back through the timestream and claw his way up – 

_Bang._

Gunshot, hand cannon, and not more than a hundred steps away. A furious cry follows. It’s a wail that travels with an open sky like this, the sound bouncing off of the hills. Shin’s feet are moving before he can stop himself.

“ _You can’t interfere, no matter what’s going on,_ ” his Ghost reminds him, safely corralled away. “ _You don’t know what might happen down the line_.” 

“I know,” Shin says tersely, speeding up when he hears yelling.

“ _Shin_ –” 

“I know.” 

He stops short of the top of the hill nearest to him, slowing his pace. So far, he can’t spot anyone, but that doesn’t mean nobody’s around. Laying flat on his stomach, Shin crawls slowly higher on the hill. As he crests the top, that one shot turns into many, and the shouting turns into wordless cries of pain and explosions.

Shin bites down on his tongue, peering over. It’s a town, a settlement, and it looks so small in the emptiness pressing down every which way around the buildings. But it doesn’t matter how insignificant the place when there’s people dressed like civilians littering the ground already, the rest scattering from what looks to be a small group of – 

Not Guardians, but Warlords, Shin realizes, and plenty more of them heading down towards the little settlement from the hills around him. He presses himself flat to the grass, stalling his breaths and dulling his Light. His cloak is just middling enough to blend in where he is, and the hood covering his helmet keeps the gleam of metal from giving him away.

His trigger finger itches. 

It’s only a town. It’s a town of survivors, living through the worst of this age. They didn’t even have the slightest iota of a chance.

The low, angry rattle of a machine gun goes off. Shin’s hand flashes hot.

“I know,” Shin repeats quietly to no one. He sits up slightly.

His Ghost says nothing when the Warlord wielding the heavy machine gun burns to ash.

Somewhere in this chaos, Drifter exists. Shin doesn’t know where, and he doesn’t try to find out. There’s a hundred other points in time to visit, and there’s nothing he can really do. His hands are tied. He feels like retching. He feels like playing executioner.

He returns to Osiris’ machine and tries again.

Far, far above, Drifter’s Ghost sees everything, including the cloaked figure that fires a bullet like fire. 

* * *

//2.../

Shin trades hills for mountains, and the little town for a rickety bar.

Shin gives a tip of his head to the serving frame before grabbing a seat by the door for himself. The bar is crowded, busy tonight. He’s lucky to get a seat at all. Drifter’s here somewhere, and this isn’t the right time, but Shin decides it’s worth taking a peek. 

He’s got his cloak wrapped around the bottom of his face like a scarf. The cold of the mountain is enough of a reason to do it, even if he could keep the chill off with just a thought. Getting comfortable, he sweeps his gaze over the bustling bar. There’s more than a few civilians here, taking shelter from the chilly weather or worse, and Shin ignores them. The bartender’s busy, and not turned towards Shin enough for him to get a good look, but Shin’s got an idea nagging at the back of his head. 

( _“Yeah, used to run a bar. Efrideet wrecked it. Didn’t I tell that story before?” Drifter said, absentminded._

_“No details, anyway. You wanna tell it?”_

_Drifter hummed once, noncommittal. “Not so much.”)_

The door slams open and three people in armor show up, a freezing wind following them inside. Shin looks them over slowly, easing his foot out to nudge the door shut again.

When he glances back at the counter, the bartender’s facing front, and Shin’s scarf hides the way his lips crook upwards.

Drifter hasn’t changed enough that Shin can’t recognize him here in this time before. He looks almost the way Shin’d met him originally, as a hotshot Shadow – but he’s dressed different, and there’s a careful blankness to his smile as he greets the Warlords that have stepped inside.

The great pretender, Shin thinks, is pretending very well.

He’s also about to be throttled, and Shin stands up, reaching for the gun on his waist, when a smaller woman announces herself. She’s short enough that Shin didn’t spot her in the crowd earlier. 

“ _Efrideet,_ ” Ghost says to him.

“Efrideet,” Shin murmurs back, shifting his weight back into his seat again. He knows how this story ends. He plugs his ears. 

The fight’s over before it even really starts, though the building likely wouldn’t agree. Bullet holes litter the wood flooring and blood stains the counter, and Efrideet doesn’t help when she shoots the ceiling on purpose. Half the bar’s run out the door, the other half pressed to the farthest walls to avoid the mess. Shin blinks as one of the Warlords’ Ghosts seems to flick a glance his way.

He scoots his chair back, inviting no attention.

The Ghosts fly out of the building, and music begins playing, and everyone returns to their conversations (likely with more zeal). Shin watches from afar as Efrideet and Drifter begin to talk, which means he doesn’t miss watching her put Drifter’s ass on the floor.

He stifles his laugh into his cloak-scarf.

“Wu Ming!” shouts one of the patrons when Efrideet’s gone. He runs up to the counter, then speaks in hushed tones with him there. From the way the guy looks, he’s worried. Guess Drifter’s got friends.

Well, then. _Wu Ming_ , Shin thinks, and then he rolls the name around on his tongue, soft as can be, “Wu Ming…” 

Yeah. He knows that one.

“You want a drink, you gotta speak up.”

Shin’s eyes go from Drifter’s boots and up and up, until he looks him in the eye. He’s standing there in front of Shin, something strange flashing across his face when Shin meets his eyes. He gives Shin a similarly blank smile to the one he’d given the Warlords.

“You want somethin’?” Drifter asks, leaning back on his heels.

Shin stares at him. “You didn’t hear me from over there.” 

“Who says?” 

“I can’t even hear myself think over this music.” 

Drifter barks a surprised laugh, then catches himself. “What, you don’t like Lady Skorri’s tunes?” He waves a dismissive hand through the air, shaking his head. “Nah, you’re right. I didn’t hear you. I read your lips.” 

Shin raises his brows, then tugs the scarf lower so his mouth is showing; still, he only says, “Sure.” 

Drifter’s eyes glitter something mean, then he says, “I’ll be right back.” He disappears, returning with a glass full of something amber and warm-looking. “You can pay, right?” 

Shin hands over some Glimmer. Drifter trades him the glass for it. 

“Saw you ‘bout to take out Citan and them,” Drifter explains after a moment, letting Shin take a sip. “Appreciate it, brother.” 

“Not enough to give me a drink on the house,” Shin says. He’s enjoying himself, some lightness to how he’s playing along with Drifter. It may not be _his_ Drifter, but – 

Maybe Shin’s just a fool across all of time. He didn’t need Osiris’ Sundial to tell him that.

“You didn’t lift a finger now, did you?” Drifter fires back, grinning. It’s a sharp grin, too. All teeth. Feels like a problem, suddenly. “If you’d done somethin’ other than watch, I coulda given you a cut of Lady Efrideet’s prize.” 

Shin makes note of that shift in Drifter’s tone and buys himself time by taking another sip. “She had it handled.” 

“Mm.” 

Drifter stares at him for a moment longer, looking. He doesn’t say anything at first, then takes a step back. 

“Well, stranger,” Drifter says slowly. He sounds more like the Drifter Shin knows now, less like _Wu Ming_ , the man who’d been braced behind the counter for war. “Be seein’ you.” 

Shin finishes his drink, slowly but surely, and stares down at the amber liquid. It’s good. The prickle at the back of his neck whenever Drifter looks his way isn’t, and Shin leaves another handful of Glimmer on the table before he leaves, careful to shut the door behind him.

The snow blankets the ground, quieting everything that’s not Shin’s heartbeat. There’s still static under his skin, yearning for _later, later._ He spits his radiolaria-tasting saliva down onto the snow and watches to see whether it eats through the powdery layer on top or not. 

It doesn’t. Well, that’s one concern dealt with. 

“Keep on keepin’ on,” he mutters. The snow almost swallows the words whole.

He hears the Sundial’s hungry whispers. He doesn’t listen.

* * *

In the Infinite Forest, Shin talks to his Ghost.

“There has to be another way,” he says. “All I need is him and me, and not a hundred years before. I need the closest time I can get.”

Shin looks out over the Vex storms and nothingness. He can see how Osiris gets lost here, for more than one reason. Osiris built that Sundial for a noble purpose, yet out of a selfish need. Flexing his fingers around a gun he’s not holding, Shin gets it. 

Drifter’s not his Saint-14. He wouldn’t put his faith in a time machine if he lost him. But time isn’t Shin’s poison of choice, and so he has to ask himself: what _would_ Shin do if he lost him?

“Stay,” says Ghost. “Talk to him now.”

Shin shakes his head. “I only get one shot if I do that.” 

“Most people function fine with one shot.” 

Shin gets the feeling he’s being chided. He smiles wryly. “Which part of that sentence should offend me the most?” 

Ghost disappears as Vex approach them. “ _If there was another way, Osiris would have found it a long time ago._ ” 

“Stealing somebody like Saint-14 back from the dead and what I’m doing are two very different monsters.” 

“ _Maybe_ ,” says Ghost as Shin raises his cannon to the approaching army of Goblins. “ _But they’re both methods of righting wrongs, aren’t they?_ ” 

* * *

//3.../

Shin sees the City as it was in its first state; it’s nothing more than shelters of cloth and leaning, scavenged things, and people who want to survive to create something better. He likes it immensely, and keeps his scarf wrapped around his face as he walks through the maze of makeshift homes and clever markets. He’s still far too early in time.

The Pilgrim Guard is here. He keeps his distance in his old, ragged clothes and light armor. All those in the Pilgrim Guard are well-fitted, highly capable. Titans before Titans. Their weapons shine in the muggy daylight more than their armor does. One wields a hammer in a tight fist. They all stand tall and proud, and Shin bites down on his optimistic little smile.

Things were simpler in these days. People knew less about what could end you, and worse, what could unmake you entirely. It was fighting back against something you could see, touch, rend apart if it became a threat. He expects no one knows how deep the rabbit hole truly goes, not yet. It takes Yor to show them the cruel depth of the ignorance they live in.

Children sprint across the path in front of him. Shin stalls his slow walk, watching them laugh and chase each other.

Sometimes simpler is better.

He takes up a spot on the fringes of the crowd that has gathered around the Pilgrim Guard. Nobody will look twice when he blends in with the rest of these bystanders so well, or so he thinks.

One of the Pilgrim Guard, in a pair of spiked, furry pauldrons, glances back. Their eyes meet – Shin’s, dark, and his, lightless.

Shin blinks once, slowly, at Drifter. At this distance, Shin can’t quite make out his expression. Frustrated, or furious. Shin can feel Drifter still watching him, never once taking his gaze off him, not even when Shin ducks out of the crowd and starts pushing through the people to put some more space between them. That constant weight of eyes on the back of his head, after turning the corner, after pacing down a long, pebbled path, makes him frown. 

They haven’t met yet. Drifter couldn’t have recognized him from Vale, couldn’t have thought _I know your eyes._

So Shin can’t make sense of why he saw Drifter slide his finger onto the trigger of the gun in his hands. 

* * *

//4, 5, 6.../

The next few attempts, Shin appears in Yor’s ship, over and over again.

Every time, he leaves without even bothering.

* * *

//7.../

Shin dies cold. 

It’s the first time he’s ever frozen to death. He can’t do a damn thing about it, either. He can only die and return, die and return, as his Ghost tries to tear him out of the bitterly cold wasteland and back into the Forest.

He can’t find Drifter.

Between deaths, he tries anyway.

* * *

//8.../

Shin knows where he is, he knows what time this is – it’s the one he’s been looking for, and yet it’s still not right. 

It’s likely a side-effect of how long he’s spent toying with the Sundial. That thing’s chaotic beyond measure, no matter how good it is at what it does, and Shin has no intention of making use of it beyond this.

The wind is light, the EDZ quiet around this time. He sees the Golden Age spacecraft with its metal and wire guts spilling out, its shell picked apart. More importantly, he sees the scarcest kind of movement on the inside of the frame. Someone’s still digging around in it, and he remembers just who it is.

This is why he came here. A second shot at a first impression with his face, his name on his tongue. To get advice from the man himself, without compromising their working relationship. He thinks it again, that Drifter’s not his Saint-14. 

But Drifter’s something: a constant, or an object of his fixation, or a completely selfish want. He’s _something_.

Shin doesn’t want to lose that something. 

He glances towards the sky, studying the sun’s position. If he remembers right, then he has precious little time to waste. He needs to get to Drifter before his Shin does. He needs to talk to him. 

If it gets down to it, he’d sooner shoot himself than squander this opportunity. All the more reason to hurry it up. 

Shin knows how this goes down already, but he still feels his heart kick up, his muscles wind tight. It’s like nothing’s changed, like this is his first time approaching Drifter here in this neutral territory. From Drifter’s perspective, it is. Shin’s played this moment over and over again in his head, grateful and rueful and frustrated, in some deep-down way. 

He walks up to the Golden Age ship, turns into the frame so he can duck into it along with Drifter.

Shin knows what will happen next:

_“You don’t look near as dinged-up as all the other folk I’ve avoided running into out here,” Drifter will say, his voice dragged out and gravelly like someone had just narrowly missed choking him moments before. Shin liked it then, and he’ll like it again. “Which makes you one outta three things. You vain, sneaky, or newborn-again?”_

_Shin remembers being unsure how to feel at the way his lip curled up just a little at the last word. This time, he’ll be amused. “I can’t be more than one?” he’ll ask in response._

_Drifter’s eyebrows will dart up, only a tiny bit, but it’ll be enough to give away his vague surprise. Likely intentionally._

_“Maaaybe,” Drifter will tell him. “But you ain’t just one step outta your grave, I know that much.”_

What happens next is:

Drifter’s waiting for him, turned in Shin’s direction already, and he raises Malfeasance.

The first shot hurts. It’s the fifth shot that kills.

* * *

_I think we put too much stock in the butterfly effect._

_One action can have rippling consequences, there’s no doubt about that. That action can be anything as small as a bullet, or something as large as the pull of a trigger. I’ve seen these impacts, both those entirely unimportant and those crucial to our survival. I’ve been the cause. I’ve been the effect._

_To imagine that I wouldn’t end up here despite everything – I can’t picture it. Trying to think up a life that I’ve never lived is like peering into water so thick with mud that there’s nothing to see at all. And why should there be? There will never be a day where I am anyone other than the legend Shin Malphur, the Man with the Golden Gun, the Dredgen Vale. No matter what I do, I can’t change that._

_With fire and whispers, I expect I would have ended up here on this path, no matter what different circumstances hounded me. No one else can take my place. No one else can bear this weight. Yor couldn’t. Jaren wouldn’t. Who else but me?_

_If I’m honest with you…I can’t afford to think anything else. In a ship, if you veer off course even the slightest amount, the farther you’re traveling, the farther off your original intent you are at the end. The same goes for doubt. The longer you doubt yourself, the more you stray, until you’re so far from where you wanted to be that you can no longer see the point of the choices you made to get there. That is why it’s so important to avoid it. To do what needs to be done. To retain even the smallest measure of hope._

_But if you let the doubt get a good enough hold of you, where you do end up a long way down a road untraveled…you might wish a flap of a butterfly’s wing could’ve changed that._

_I know I have._

\- From the writings of Shin Malphur, in a moment of weakness

* * *

Drifter kills him three more times in the same way, same place. After each attempt, Shin’s Ghost resurrects him away from the site and pulls him back to his own time. After each attempt, Shin’s migraine gets a little worse.

“Wait,” Shin says suddenly, stopping short of a fourth go-around.

He looks at the Forest, then back at his Ghost.

“Malfeasance shouldn’t exist yet.”

They adjust the clocks, and Shin goes back in.

* * *

//9.../

Shin spits that radiolaria taste onto Mercury’s dry ground before he strolls around a dune and right into Drifter.

Drifter does a double-take, busy with his Ghost’s display of calculations, before he swears and lifts Malfeasance, still glittering with transmat effect. Shin’s ready; he’s died four too many times to that damn cannon, and he’s a quicker draw besides. He fires his own cannon at Drifter’s foot. Drifter jumps, flinching away, but he’s already lining up the next pull of the trigger.

That suits Shin just fine, because it’s bought him enough time to close the space and grab Drifter’s wrist, wrenching his aim upwards. The bullet flies to nowhere, way up in Mercury’s sky. If they’re lucky, it’ll come back down on a Minotaur.

Drifter’s staring at him, any and all fear hidden behind a layer of anger. “Why’re you here this time?” he snaps.

Shin’s words die on his tongue.

Drifter yanks his arm free and stumbles backwards like he wasn’t expecting to be released so easily. He keeps staring at Shin, putting some distance between them. “You make me ask again, you won’t like it very much,” he adds, waggling Malfeasance in a decidedly nonthreatening manner.

After a moment of consideration, Shin holsters his gun and puts both hands up. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m tired of gettin’ shot.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of _you_. So, guess there’s only one thing left to do –” 

Shin darts away from the next few bullets that come his way, ducking behind some nearby crates. Seems like Drifter’s been working hard on the Sundial with this many supplies around. Shin starts to poke his head over, only to be met with another shot. It _pings!_ against the crate, then the slug just...sits there.

With vague interest, Shin swiftly snatches the slug off the crate. “Don’t shoot me!” Shin shouts, studying the bullet in his fingers. “The Sundial works, I’m using it.” 

“Yeah, I know, asshole! You’re like an overgrown tick! I can’t shake you to save my own damn skin. You’ve only been followin’ me for the last handful of _decades_.”

Shin stops examining the Malfeasance slug at that. He tries to peek again. Drifter snaps his aim onto him, but when Shin only flicks the slug he’s holding away and makes no move to meet him barrel-to-barrel, he seems baffled.

“This is my first time seein’ that gun of yours in action,” Shin explains, then asks, “How many times have we met?”

Drifter glares his way. “Enough that I know what kinda thorn in my side you are.” 

“Since when?”

He doesn’t respond to Shin immediately. Instead, he shoves more rounds into Malfeasance and grips it tight enough that Shin can see his hand shaking. Finally, Drifter says, “Eaton.” 

The name doesn’t mean anything to Shin, and his silence must show it. Drifter summons his Ghost then, the little thing red-eyed and quiet and unblinking, until Drifter gives it a look and it disappears again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Drifter goes on. “I know who you are. And considerin’ after you pop up, things always go cuckoo, I’d rather pretend like you were never here.” 

“What do you mean?”

Something must show through in his voice. Drifter looks at him just as sharply as ever, but there’s some unfamiliar confusion there now. Drifter takes another step back anyway.

“...You sure that machine works?” Drifter says, skeptical. 

Shin catches himself. He swallows. “Yeah. Real sure.”

Drifter considers the Sundial for a long, silent moment, then does the same to Shin. 

“Let’s chat,” he says eventually, then brandishes Malfeasance. “Hope you don’t mind if I keep my friend out.” 

As far as Shin’s usage of the Sundial goes, time’s like a river, and he’s just been floating down it. Drifter’s Ghost got a lock on his Light frequency the first time he showed up on that hillside overlooking that small settlement, forever and some years ago. Drifter didn’t know who Shin was then, but he put two and two together as the legend of the Man with the Golden Gun spread like wildfire. Shin shot that Warlord long before his own time. Something about that seems funny – in this timeline, the first man to die like that isn’t Yor. It’s just some Warlord exercising indifference to life.

_What’s the difference, really?_

Oh, but the funny part, Shin finds out when he asks: Drifter knew who Vale was when they met, too. Light doesn’t lie, and that frequency had been popping up often enough in Drifter’s time that he’d kept an eye on it.

Shin supposes this is exactly why Osiris didn’t want the Sundial working off of Mercury.

“So, in all your time playing ‘round with this thing, it’s never blown up a universe?” Drifter asks Shin, while Shin is left reeling. “Your universe, someone else’s universe, another timeline’s –” 

“No,” Shin says blankly. 

“It’s never ripped you apart at the molecular level?”

“No. Should it be doing that?”

“I’unno. Good question, though.” There’s a beat of silence. “Wanna see if we can _make_ it do that?” 

“No.” 

“Huh.” Drifter sucks his teeth. “Your loss.” 

Shin stares at him, uncomprehending. Drifter knocks Malfeasance against his thigh and shrugs. “Well, guess you should be goin’,” he says.

“You’re throwing me out?” 

“Listen, now that I know this sucker works in one timeline, I need to get it in tip-top shape in mine,” Drifter tells him. “That way, _my_ Shin Malphur’s not fallin’ ass-backwards through time to spy on me.” 

He sounds nervous, and unhappy, and a little paranoid. Shin feels a stab of self-awareness between his ribs.

“I wasn’t trying to spy on you,” Shin admits. He owes him that much. This isn’t the truth he was trying to spit out, but it’s a truth, nonetheless. “Where I’m from, we’ve grown… _closer_ , so…” 

“Closer like _in cahoots_ , or closer like, y’know,” Drifter interrupts. He raises one hand, makes a little _o_ with his forefinger and thumb, then pistons his other index finger through it.

Shin rubs the back of his neck. “Both.”

The gravity of it seems to settle on Drifter then, and he goes pale suddenly, his hands dropping. “Oh fuck,” Drifter blurts. “Am I dead?”

Hasty, Shin says, “No – _no_. You’re not dead.” 

Drifter doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t seem _not_ convinced. He’s twitchier, somehow even more nervous. “Yeah, well. We all know why Osiris wanted this eyesore, right? Can’t blame me for jumpin’ to conclusions.”

There’s probably plenty of timelines where he _is_ dead. Shin doesn’t bring that up, but he wonders, out of the blue, how many of those timelines are his fault. Drifter brings up the schematics for the Sundial again, studying those instead of looking his way.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Shin says eventually. 

Drifter’s tapping his foot distractedly, but Shin’s remark makes his rhythm stutter. “What should I be surprised about, pal?” 

“Any of it.” 

“I know you,” Drifter says with a strange, familiar finality.

Shin watches him for a long moment, the way he’s no longer bristling every time Shin speaks, how he doesn’t have his back turned to him, but there’s a slant to his shoulders, angled just enough away. He’s not lowering his guard, but he’s not making like he’s about to shoot him, either; Malfeasance sits in the band around his waist, waiting to be drawn. 

This Drifter can’t provide him with the practice Shin wanted to seek out so desperately, so there’s no point in sticking around. It’s a waste of time, but he’s got so much of it, Shin can’t help himself from asking one last question of him.

“How well?”

Drifter glances sidelong at him, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards in amusement. “Well enough. You ‘n me? We’ve been around the block.” 

An aching want yawns open in Shin’s chest. “So why shoot me?” 

“Oh, pfff, that? No hard feelings, right?” Drifter pauses, fishing a toothpick out. “Anyway, I knew you weren’t mine. The buzz on your Light’s all wasp-like. _Angry_.”

Shin pays more attention to the word _mine_ than the latter half of Drifter’s explanation, bitterly jealous of himself. Drifter sighs a long sigh and jerks his thumb at him.

“Alright, shoo. I gotta work, and unless you’re gonna gimme the nitty gritty on Osiris’ new toy, it’s gonna be a pain in the –” 

Drifter stops talking altogether when his Ghost appears out of the blue, stays completely silent as he opens up the new message he’s received, raises his eyebrows at the blueprints that greet him. He looks past those blueprints and at Shin, who stands up, batting sand off of his cloak. 

“Courtesy of my Osiris,” Shin says. “He gave them to me before I started using the Sundial. Will it help you?”

Drifter clears his throat, slowly easing his Ghost away. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say so.”

Shin’s really on the edge of going. Really, he is. But Drifter’s looking at him in a different way now, thoughtful like he’s a pinned butterfly, and Shin can’t bring himself to leave.

“I gotta wonder,” Shin muses pointedly, “just where I am in this timeline.” 

Drifter chews on his toothpick, then seems to be unable to help his slow grin. “Want the honest truth? Probably still asleep.” 

“Derelict?” 

“Yeah.” Drifter shakes out the dust from his hands and stands up. “You’re insatiable, you know that?” 

“And you’re an enabler.” 

Drifter snickers. “Takes one to know one.”

That thoughtfulness is still there in Drifter’s face, but it’s wrapped up in a sharp challenge, his smirk one of venom and daring. Shin’s hands twitch to touch, but there’s still too many steps between them. He wonders if Drifter will let him close the space – wonders, even more, if Drifter will close it for him.

Drifter clicks his tongue against his teeth, beckoning to him. “C’mere then, damn.” 

And it’s Shin who moves, Shin who leaps at the opportunity, Shin who’s on him in a second and wondering how a Drifter who knows him like this will kiss him, will touch him. Drifter plucks the toothpick out of his mouth, flicks it away, just as Shin presses their lips together, and then he huffs out a shaky laugh against Shin’s teeth.

Drifter kisses him like he’s coaxing him into an idea, like he’s peeling away Shin’s scheming with lazy licks of his tongue. His hands grip either side of Shin’s cloak and it keeps Shin within arms’ reach, but the concept of being anywhere else right now is completely alien to Shin, who wants to feel Drifter’s pulse against his hand and make it flutter faster and more alive than ever.

He’d let him, is the thing. Shin feels it in the way that he feels Drifter’s lips part against his, how Drifter allows Shin to lead things. He surrenders his breaths to him as Shin chases his mouth, shivers when Shin bites his lip.

Drifter would let him do anything, and he wouldn’t even flinch at it.

Shin wants that so badly that it _hurts_.

“Aw,” Drifter murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath against Shin’s lips. “Eager, huh?”

Shin bites him again; Drifter recoils out of surprise, then barks a laugh, thumbing over his reddening lip. 

“Alright, alright. Get outta here,” Drifter tells him, dropping his hold on Shin and pulling away. His eyes dance. “Tell the other me I said _you’re welcome_.” 

“What for?” 

“For workin’ you up, obviously.” 

Shin laughs then, a soft, fleeting thing. He retreats a few steps, summoning his Ghost, and tries not to think of the heat burning across his skin that has nothing to do with Mercury. He wants this. He wants it, but it isn’t really his to want.

He wonders if Osiris ever found a timeline like this for himself, and the intimate nature of that question makes Shin feel like a voyeur. He stops wondering.

“Listen,” Drifter cuts in, just as Shin is disappearing. Visions of the Infinite Forest bleed in through the sight of him standing there, looking at Shin. Drifter’s scars are gone and there again. He’s smiling; he’s not. His voice sounds like it’s in Shin’s ear. He’s so far away. “I’d bet you all the Glimmer I got that I already know.”

Then he’s gone.

* * *

When Shin finds Drifter – in his own time, his own place – he’s in the middle of commentating a Gambit match. His feet are propped up on the console, his eyes reflecting the action on the screens projected in front of him. He makes no attempt to show that he notices Shin’s arrival, but he mutes himself on Shin’s approach. Shin leans over the back of his seat, draping arms across Drifter’s shoulders. 

Both teams are close. Drifter’s watching intently, though Shin attempts to ruin that by kissing the shell of his ear.

“Red or blue?” Drifter asks. He’s playing with a coin, flipping it between his fingers, running his thumb against the symbols on one side and then the other.

Shin takes another glance at the screen. Blue team’s ahead by the smallest chunk of Primeval health. Red team’s got two Gunslingers, though, and Shin’s got a fondness for that. The way Drifter’s lip tugs up at the corner, all ironic, Shin’s sure he thinks he’s caught him with his bias.

“Blue,” Shin says for the sake of being contrary.

Drifter spares him a glance. “O- _kaaayyy_ ,” he says, dragging it out.

Moving his mouth to Drifter’s neck, Shin adds, “What do you think?” 

Drifter flicks his nail against the coin before setting it down onto the console. “I’m keepin’ my bet to myself, I think.” 

Both Primevals’ve been whittled down to half. Shin’s no longer paying attention by the time they get to a quarter, already having moved in front of Drifter to settle over his thighs, into his lap. Drifter’s hands are on his waist, tucking his thumbs beneath Shin’s vest so it’s only a thin under-armor layer between his touch and Shin’s skin. Drifter’s still watching the match. Shin’s mouthing at his neck.

Shin sinks his teeth in when he hears the telltale sound of an agonized, furious Primeval cry. After a sharp intake of breath, Drifter unmutes himself.

“Better luck next time!” Drifter announces to the teams with put-on warmth. His thumbs dig into Shin’s sides, gripping tight, so Shin moves his hips slightly, letting Drifter feel him out. 

He doesn’t make a sound – professional, Shin thinks – but raises up to meet him halfway.

“And for the lucky winners,” Drifter continues, while Shin licks a long line up his neck, “check your postmaster, why don’tcha? Should have a little somethin’ sweet wait- _ing_.” 

There. Shin’s hand groping at him did the trick, made his words hitch mid-speech. Drifter’s fast, exiting the comms, unclasping Shin’s cloak to let it drop and pool around their seat meant for one. 

“What gives?” Drifter asks against his hair, breathless. Then, as Shin grazes teeth against his throat, he drops his head back against the chair, pulling him into another roll of hips. “You usually like watchin’. Feelin’ needy?”

Shin bites again, this time barely more than dragging teeth on the edge of Drifter’s jaw. He kisses over one of his scars as Drifter slides hands against his body, taking Shin’s armor apart piece by piece. He mutters as sand falls from Shin’s clothes to his lap, then gives the grains of sand on his fingertip a curious lick.

Drifter glances at Shin, like he’s reassessing him suddenly. “Mercury?” he asks.

Shin draws back and decides he doesn’t wanna know how he can tell. “Yeah.” 

“Huh,” Drifter says. He must figure it doesn’t matter, because he goes right back to peeling Shin out of his gear. Shin’s already tossing most of Drifter’s accessories over the back of the chair, pauldrons and belts and, yeah, the gun goes too. Before he can toss the Trust over the side, it disappears from his hand, saved by transmat.

“Hey, now,” Drifter says, crooning. “Play nice with that.”

“I don’t want to be nice,” Shin breathes, delighted when he sees the flash of heat across Drifter’s face.

He dives in for a kiss. Drifter doesn’t kiss him like the other Drifter had; it’s all fight, a tug of war to see who’ll give in first. Shin wants Drifter to give a little. Shin wants to pull him apart and get at what’s on the inside.

So Shin kisses like it. He licks into Drifter’s mouth and presses his teeth to his lip. Shin gives a noise in the back of his throat when Drifter grips his wrists tightly, then groans when Drifter’s tongue slides against his, testing how far he’s willing to go. On any other day, maybe Shin would roll over and enjoy himself, let him wrest control, show him he won’t spark up trouble. 

Not this time.

Shin slides a hand into the back of Drifter’s hair, taking hold of those short strands tightly. Drifter’s surprised sound, a hot exhale of breath against his mouth, echoes around him, and then Shin’s on his neck again, rocking his hips in an eager rhythm into Drifter’s as he pants there at the crook of his shoulder. Drifter’s hands fly to his hips, his thighs, and he squeezes there, hard, as he moans through gritted teeth. 

The chair creaks worryingly beneath them, but Shin only stops to kick off his boots and push Drifter’s robes off of him, pulling his head back further so he can mouth at his collarbone. Drifter’s peering down his nose at him, harsh gasps for air interrupting anything he might want to say. It feels too hot here, wrapped up in each other like this.

Shin wants so badly it’s uncomfortable, too hard under his pants, and Drifter’s not much better off, judging by the way he squirms when Shin slides his gloved palm between his legs again, this time repeating the motion again and again after that. Shin rests his forehead against Drifter’s, still gripping his hair to hold his head in place, stop him from tucking his nose against Shin’s jaw, keep him from hiding.

“Shin,” Drifter pants, sharp, high. His pupils are so wide, so black. Shin kisses him again, and when he pulls away, nose-to-nose, Drifter’s squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Shin_ –” 

“Yeah,” Shin rasps against his mouth. He licks at Drifter’s lower lip, following the hard length of him with his hand. Drifter shudders. Finally, he shoves under the top of Drifter’s pants to pull his cock free, stroking him fast. Shin growls, “Come _on_.” 

Drifter gasps and tenses up like a bowstring, hips arching up into Shin’s fist as he finishes with a shocked tremble. He whines, or maybe that’s Shin, when the mess lands, sticky and hot, on his chest. Shin pumps him twice more before letting go, wiping what he can off of Drifter’s dick, then licking it from his glove.

Drifter stares at him, wide-eyed and stunned. Shin grins and slips two fingers under his headband, stroking lightly at his scalp there. 

“What the _hell_ , Shin,” Drifter demands finally, his voice pleasure-rough.

Shin slides off of Drifter’s lap, unbuckling his own pants. “I’m not done.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Drifter murmurs halfway to himself, looking boneless as he sinks into his seat.

Shin puts both hands on either arm of the chair, looking down at Drifter with a gleam to his eye. “Come on, then.” He pats Drifter’s thigh friendly-like, then rubs the side of his hip, easy.

It doesn’t happen often like this, with Drifter turning his back to him and Shin running his touch down the length of his spine, admiring. Drifter gets a knee in his chair and leans over the back of it, head turned to watch Shin sink two lube-slick fingers inside of him. He shudders again, though whether it’s because he’s sensitive or because Shin’s good at curling his fingers into just the right spot, Shin doesn’t ask. He fucks his fingers down to the knuckle, and does it again, until Drifter’s rocking back into his hand and pressing his mouth against his folded arms to silence any noise.

Shin drags his free hand up his back, to his nape, to his hair, and then hooks a finger into the headband again. He pulls, forcing Drifter’s head up. 

“Let me hear you,” Shin says, soft.

Drifter looks sideways back at him, his breaths quick again. “Better make me feel it, then.” 

Shin adds a third finger and goes until Drifter digs his grip into the chair so tightly that they both feel the back of it start to give. And it’s then that Shin lines up against him, presses inside and folds his body up against the curve of Drifter’s ‘til they’re flush. Shin traces his touch down either side of Drifter’s form, finally coming to grasp his hips. 

It’s quick, and hard, and it’s not nice, just like Shin said – but it’s good and it’s hot and exactly what Shin needs, and Drifter gives it to him, lets him hear his hissed breaths and all the sounds along with them. 

Shin fucks into him while hanging onto his hips for dear life, while tracing the line of his spine with his gaze, while drinking in the _look_ that Drifter gives him when he glances back and their eyes meet. 

Shin thinks of Drifter, a timeline away.

Somehow, impossibly, Shin likes Drifter best like this, surrendering with only an edge of honesty, and not all at once.

It’s that thought that does it to him, punches the orgasm out of him as he gasps and his motions stutter, muscles tight. Warmth floods through him and Shin catches his breath, lungs burning. Drifter’s eyes flutter shut as he bites the inside of his arm, and it’s only when Shin wraps an arm around him to keep him still for a second that he realizes Drifter’s come untouched on the chair, too. 

Shin slides a lazy pet down Drifter’s back, bliss making him indulgent. Drifter doesn’t stop him, only slumping against his seat as much as he can until it creaks again, somehow more concerning than the earlier one.

“You,” Drifter manages, forehead against his arms. “You’re somethin’ else.”

Shin huffs and dares to lean in to kiss the nape of his neck.

It falls on him to get them cleaned up, though really that just translates to getting them into that cot of Drifter’s, uncomfortable and hard though it may be. Shin worms his way between Drifter and the wall for the comfort of it. He likes the chill of the Derelict, but only when Drifter’s next to him. When they’re tangled together like this, Drifter always seems to orbit back towards Shin, shying away from the cold. Shin’s not above taking advantage of that.

“You were right,” Shin murmurs against Drifter’s hair, nosing at his temple. “I was on Mercury.” 

Drifter’s breaths weren’t slow enough that he was asleep. Likely, he was just waiting for Shin to open his mouth. “Yeah, and?”

“Osiris has got a funny machine.” Shin presses his lips to Drifter’s brow, then withdraws. “Know anything about it?” 

“Nope, not a thing,” Drifter says without missing a beat. “What kinda machine? Somethin’ Vex-y?”

Shin bites down on a smile. “More or less.” 

They fall into a steady quiet. Shin leans back in to kiss along Drifter’s jawline, thoughtful, considering. 

“How well do you think you know me?” Shin whispers, almost too soft to be heard.

Drifter stalls out, then turns to face Shin with narrowed eyes. Shin blinks at him, about to press, but then he goes still and decides to let him look.

Whatever Drifter sees there is satisfying enough for him to answer, finally, “Well enough.”

It’s an echo from a time away, but it says everything Shin needs to know. He hums once, then pushes Drifter’s chest to climb over him. The blankets slide off of his shoulders, Drifter looking up at him like he’s fathomless.

Shin kisses him and the fire kicks up all over again.

* * *

_Osiris:_

_Turns out I’m not made for time travel. Who knew? Thanks again for letting me try it out, but I got this nagging feeling it should be left to you._

_Attached is a recounting of some of my trips. Don’t know if it’ll help you any. I killed a lot of Vex in the Forest. Got samples for you, too._

_Keep the Sundial hidden. It’s…something. Heard it whisper. You know we’re not supposed to be playing with things that whisper, right?_

_Good luck._

_–_ A letter from Shin Malphur to Osiris, left behind before departing Mercury

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. <3


End file.
